


though we know that it ends eventually

by blindmadness



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: (pun intended ho ho ho), F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Sex Pollen, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: Demigods should always expect the unexpected, but monsters releasing spores with some... interesting side effects... is a little outside the norm, even for them.





	though we know that it ends eventually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pageleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/gifts).



> I love these kids so so SO much; I've never wanted three fictional characters to all kiss one another so deeply, and I'm delighted to have the chance to be writing them doing so (although I can't believe this filth is how I'm starting off?? forgive me Uncle Rick).
> 
> For [pageleaf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf), the patron saint of OT3s and the only other person who might want these three to kiss as much as I do!! I hope you enjoy, bb, I love you so much I'm not even going to blame you TOO badly for my future inability to look Rick Riordan directly in the eye. <333
> 
> Takes place an unspecified number of years in the future in which all of them are of legal age, lmao-- probably like, late teens-early twenties?? And I'm tagging it as dubcon because, well, sex pollen, so no one involved can technically consent, but rest assured (spoiler alert!) that they would all enthusiastically do so if they could. Title comes from Celldweller's "Frozen," both because it's been on my sex-writing playlist for years and because... you know... irony. :")

It’s meant to be a simple fight with a monster, and for the most part that’s how it goes. But as Hazel brings down her spatha for the final blow, instead of simply dying or disappearing, the monster dissolves into a cloud of fluffy white spores, which are borne on a sudden strong wind right at the three demigods. 

Hazel, standing closest to where the monster was, is hit hardest; Frank, far enough to launch his arrows but close enough to ensure they hit the mark, gets a faceful, too. Leo’s the farthest away, gathering up the materials left over from the small explosion he’d set off as a distraction tactic, and most of the spores have dispersed in the wind by the time he breathes a couple in and sneezes.

“Well,” he remarks to no one in particular, since both Frank and Hazel are too far away to hear him, “that’s new.” 

He wonders for a minute if he should be worried about poison or spontaneous regeneration from the spores when they touch the ground or—really, whatever other weird shit monsters might have up their sleeves. At this point in his life, he’s seen enough that he’s willing to accept pretty much any new and exciting outcome from destroying them. _Monsters dissolving into spores when we kill them? Eh. Just another day in the life of a demigod hero extraordinaire._

Dangers aside, it’s a life Leo wouldn’t trade for anything.

One of the few causes he has to think otherwise, he thinks grumpily as he walks back over to Frank and Hazel, is seeing the two of them look at each other the way they’re doing now—slightly unfocused, like they’re the only two people in the world, like they’re about two seconds away from jumping each other’s bones. (That had happened for the first time not too long ago; Leo had been torn between relief that the endless parade of sexual tension was over and intense, all-consuming jealousy. He tries not to think about that second one too much.)

“Yoohoo,” he calls, tone exaggeratedly overdone as he stops before them. “Young lovers. Third wheel in the midst. Tone it down a notch or two.”

Then Hazel turns to look at him, and Leo’s part mostly-false annoyance, part entirely-not-false jealousy melts away. “Haze?” he asks, taking a step closer in concern, because _wow,_ she doesn’t look well at all. Her eyes have gone full-on glassy, her expression slack and distant, and her face is so flushed it’s visible even over the darkness of her skin. “Are you okay?”

“Hazel?” Leo hears from behind him, shaky, and he turns to look at Frank, who’s taking his own clumsy step forward. He doesn’t look that great either, come to think of it—he’s also flushed, looking a little weaker and sweatier than the exertions of that fight should account for, and unbalanced, like he might topple over at any second.

Hazel’s face lights when she sees Frank—like, even more so than usual—and she practically lunges at him, throwing her arms around his neck. He catches her automatically, looking more than a little unsteady, and then she’s kissing him like she might _die_ otherwise, more dramatic and intense than Leo’s ever seen, and after a moment Frank pulls her closer and kisses back, just as urgently.

Great, Leo thinks in what is _mostly_ disgust, honestly, forcing himself to look away. They couldn’t wait five stupid minutes for him to skedaddle? They have to put on this—this _show_ to remind him, in vivid gods-damned detail, what exactly he’s missing?

Seriously, he can _hear_ them, Frank’s low rumbles of pleasure and Hazel’s breathless moans into the kiss. It’s indecent, and it’s getting him more than a little hot under the collar. Actually, he’s just now noticing how hot it is out here. Was it this hot when they were fighting the monster?

“Okay, for real,” Leo snaps at length, turning around and studiously ignoring the actual shape of Frank and Hazel in favor of looking a foot or so to the right. His sudden overheating, on top of having to listen to the True Love Makeout Hour, is making him a _little_ cranky. “Can you guys cool it for just a second so we can get out of here? Get you into a nice comfy bed for maximum, you know, enjoyment?”

Frank and Hazel pull apart like they’re moving through water, slow and sluggish. Frank’s eyes are still fixed on Hazel, but she’s turning towards Leo and her eyes are lighting feverishly as she staggers out of Frank’s arms and towards Leo, so shaky that he finds himself rushing forward to grab her by the elbows so that she doesn’t tip over.

“Hazel,” he says, his voice gentler now as his concern returns—even as he’s noticing, as if for the first time, how brilliantly gold her eyes are, how warm her skin looks, especially with that flush. How beautiful she is. But now’s not the time—something’s wrong with her, it’s clear now, and he’s abruptly annoyed with Frank for pawing at her when he should be trying to help. “Seriously. What’s wrong? Are you hurt, did you—mmph!”

And very suddenly she’s kissing him, effectively cutting off anything else he was planning to say (the first and only time, he thinks dimly, that Leo Valdez has been rendered speechless). Her mouth is warm and insistent on his, her arms winding around him to pull herself up until she’s pressed flush against him. And she feels overheated, too, like an echo of the heat zinging through Leo’s veins, and his hands go to her hips to hold her there because kissing her is the best thing he’s ever felt and he wants her closer, and—

—and she has a _boyfriend,_ who is one of Leo’s best friends and pretty much tied for his favorite person in the world, and no matter how good kissing Hazel feels, he’s not a scumbag, and he forces himself to pull away, enough so that their bodies aren’t touching anymore. 

_“Hazel,”_ he exclaims, trying to ignore how bereft he suddenly feels, trying to pretend his voice isn’t really, stupidly breathless. “Gods. What are you doing? Frank is right—”

And then suddenly Frank _is_ right there, and he’s kissing Leo, too, and that’s enough to completely short-circuit his brain.

He can’t even absorb it for a good minute or so—this is _Frank,_ large, reassuring, clumsy Frank, Frank’s mouth covering his, Frank’s large hand at the back of Leo’s neck, Frank’s considerably broad chest pressing close to Leo’s own—it’s all too much. It feels just as good as kissing Hazel and he wants more, he wants both of them, he wants to sink into this and never let go—

—and he forces himself to abruptly fling himself back, arms pinwheeling wildly for balance, staring stunned and wide-eyed at both Frank and Hazel, similar expressions on their flushed, dazed faces. They’re focused on Leo with such intent it’s a miracle he doesn’t melt on the spot. (He’s still feeling heat surging through his veins, the desire to go closer to both of them almost overwhelming, and it’s only the total shock of it all that’s letting him hold onto what little self-control he has left.)

“What,” he manages to croak out, all too weakly, “is going _on?_ What’s with both of you?”

Hazel’s still looking too dazed to react, but Frank actually looks embarrassed, his flush deepening. “I don’t know,” he says, and his voice sounds like it’s coming from a great distance. “I don’t. But I— _we_ —need—” He looks at Hazel, as if for confirmation, and she nods urgently before Frank turns back to Leo, expression pleading. “We need—something. This. _You.”_

Leo would never in a million years devalue the horror that Percy and Annabeth had gone through all those years ago, but he’s pretty sure that this experience is worse than Tartarus. 

He’s never actually thought, in all his agonizing over being kind of stupidly in love with his two best friends, that it could really _happen_ —and whatever it is, well, it’s not even really happening, is it? Something’s really wrong with both Frank and Hazel, and if the heat thrumming just under Leo’s skin is any indication, there’s something wrong with him, too. Maybe it’s some weird side effect of killing that monster, those spores it released—he doesn’t know for sure. All he knows is that doing this would be so, so wrong, no matter how much he wants to.

“Guys,” he manages to say, with not nearly as much conviction as he’d like, “no. We can’t. _I_ can’t. You’re—you don’t really mean it. You don’t really want it.”

Both Hazel and Frank look back at him blankly, urgency still clear on their faces. Leo has the feeling he’s been less than convincing.

He tries again. “You’re gonna feel ridiculous when this—whatever it is—wears off. I know my sheer animal magnetism seems really appealing now, but—hey! Stop that!” Both of them have stepped closer now, and Leo manages to stagger half a step back before Frank reaches out to set a hand at the back of his neck again.

“Leo,” he says softly, and oh, gods, he’s so close, and Leo’s dying. Every cell of his body wants to go to him, then to drag Hazel along too. He can barely remember why he’s resisting.

“Please,” Frank says, his expression intent. He and Hazel are holding hands now, Leo notices, and her expression is just as helplessly focused on him. “We need this. It won’t stop without you. _Please.”_

Maybe, Leo’s fevered brain thinks desperately, it’s not actually selfish to do this? It’s pretty clear neither of them are in their right minds, but—but if Frank’s right, they won’t be _back_ in their right minds unless he helps them out. Maybe that means he’s actually doing them a favor—a favor that happens to coincide with the thing he wants most in the world?

He’s not sure if this makes any sense. He’s not sure if he’s thinking straight anymore. He _wants,_ more intensely and undeniably than he ever has before, and he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to try equivocating or resisting anymore.

And even as he watches, Frank and Hazel are sliding closer together, her slipping into his side, shifting against him, his arm moving around her waist, both of them moving like they’re restless and can’t quite get comfortable—and then they’re turned fully into one another and they kiss again—open-mouthed, deep, Frank nearly lifting Hazel off the ground, Hazel’s hands clutching at Frank’s shoulders, both of them just as vocal as they were earlier. And instead of looking away, this time, Leo watches.

He stares at them shamelessly, taking in every detail—Frank’s large hands on Hazel’s hips, Hazel’s hair tangling around both of them, the desperate way they’re pressing closer and closer to one another, urgent and helpless, as if they can’t get enough, as if they’re—they’re missing something.

Leo wonders in awe if Frank was right—if they both really need him now. Is it possible that the three of them together would be stronger and more powerful than the two of them alone? If Leo put himself between the two of them right now, would it bring them real relief?

And suddenly none of that matters, because putting himself between the two of them is all Leo can think of doing. The wisdom of it, the possible benefits—all of it fades beneath the weight of his own massive desire, impossible to deny any longer. 

He’s closer to Frank, so it’s Frank he grabs to pull away and into him.

Frank is so strong, there’s no way Leo could have moved him if he hadn’t already been a little unsteady—and if he hadn’t wanted it, too. But he recovers his balance quickly and follows readily, his arms solid and unyielding around Leo, his mouth obligingly covering Leo’s with such intensity that he lets out a little whimper of relief at the contact.

It’s almost impossible to think like this, so overwhelmed by the feeling of Frank all around him (he’s never quite allowed himself to think about how much he likes Frank’s size, but, oh, he _really_ likes it), but Leo finds himself marveling at how even like this, trembling with urgency, Frank can’t be anything but gentle—not quite crushing Leo to him, just holding him with hard, unbreakable strength; thorough but not rough as he urges Leo’s mouth open, licking deeper and deeper into it until Leo’s grateful all over again to be held so tightly, since he’s pretty sure he’d be unable to stand otherwise.

After what feels like a glorious eternity, Leo feels a tug pulling him away from Frank, insistent enough that he turns, Frank’s grip on him loosening—and then it’s Leo’s turn to be the more steady one as Hazel practically launches herself at him, arms going around his neck, molding her body to his as she kisses him.

It’s different with her, of course—they’re closer in size, so Leo can anchor her against him, feeling the press of her breasts and her hips, and the movement of her mouth is more demanding, her tongue sliding against Leo’s, hot and intense. Leo’s hands find their way into her hair, tangling into the curls and angling her head to deepen the kiss—as he tugs lightly, Hazel lets out a whimper that nearly knocks him over, so he does it again and again, swallowing the sounds she makes more and more urgently.

It’s obvious to Leo that while Hazel and Frank were more in the thrall of whatever weird fever’s gripped them all at first, he’s getting there, too, quicker by the minute.

Hazel shifts her weight abruptly to wrap both legs around Leo’s waist, and he staggers until he reaches something solid—Frank, coming up behind him, bracing Leo’s back against his chest, his hands at Leo’s hips, just under Hazel’s legs. Leo leans back in to him, grateful, and dimly registers, distracted as he is by kissing Hazel, pressing into his back— _oh_ —and it makes him hyperaware of Hazel’s hips pressing into his, and how it’s making him—

“Leo,” Hazel moans into his mouth, rocking her hips forward, and Leo shudders, pulling back just enough to try to catch his breath. “Leo, please—”

He wants to ask her what she needs, to tell her he’ll give her anything, anything she wants, but before he can, she’s grabbing his wrists and shifting his hands so that they’re on her breasts, and he squeezes instinctively and Hazel moans again and gods, _gods_ —

“Hazel,” he groans, taking a minute to just—he’s never thought this would happen, and now it’s so _much,_ Hazel’s breasts in his hands and Frank’s chest against his back, and he’s so overwhelmed—and then Hazel wriggles impatiently, so he goes back to kissing her as he shifts his hands, finding her nipples with his thumbs—they’re already stiff peaks even beneath her shirt and bra, _fuck_ —and then Frank reaches to set his hands against Hazel’s back and pull her closer, moving her in slow circles against Leo’s hips as he grinds himself against Leo’s lower back, and then Leo feels Frank’s mouth just under his ear, sliding down until he reaches the spot where his neck meets his shoulder and sucks, hard, and Leo is _dying,_ it shouldn’t be possible for one person, even a demigod, to feel so much—

And then Hazel pulls away, breathless and impatient, to pull off her shirt, then to start trying to tug at the button and zipper of her jeans. It’s so plainly unsuccessful that even as blindly, senselessly aroused as he is, Leo wants to laugh.

“Haze,” he manages, setting his hands at her hips. “Hang on—here—you can’t do it like—stop for just a second—” He manages to ease her down to stand in front of him without getting too distracted by her breasts (he deserves a medal of some kind, he thinks distantly), then sets himself to the task of properly getting her pants off. Meanwhile, Hazel and Frank are now kissing again, over his shoulder—speaking of distraction. It’s tempting to stay just like this, right between them, but not as tempting as the alternative.

Still, he hesitates for just a second once he’s gotten her jeans open, watching her and Frank. Even here, with his thigh sandwiched between their hips, after all he’s done, all they’ve been doing—he still can’t believe what’s about to happen. He needs to make sure.

“Hazel,” he says, tugging at her pants, needing to hear her say it’s all right. “Hey. Are you—”

But before he can say “sure” or “all right” or something like that, she’s pulling away from both of them to properly kick her pants off the rest of the way. She sheds the rest of her clothing quickly after that and Leo’s breathless at how beautiful she is, naked and flushed—and then Frank’s hands are slipping up under his shirt, running across his chest and back, then pulling upward, and Leo can’t get his arms up fast enough to help him pull it off, too. The thought of as little clothing as possible between him and Hazel’s body and Frank’s hands seems ideal.

It’s barely a moment after he gets his shirt off that Hazel’s hands are on him, sliding down his chest and back up to his shoulders, gripping hard as she wraps her legs around his waist again, pressing her breasts against his chest. Leo shudders, leaning back against Frank again as he slides his hands up Hazel’s thighs, up her back and back down to cup her ass and squeeze, urging her closer to him.

“Leo,” Hazel moans, and Leo spends a blistering, bewildered minute trying to figure out how to touch her and keep her upright at the same time—and then Frank’s arms wind around him, sliding under Hazel’s thighs, holding her upright, allowing Leo to slip one hand between them, cupping her, eliciting another eager moan as she arches upward into his hand.

She’s so, so wet and it almost makes Leo lose his balance entirely; he barely has the presence of mind to slip one finger inside her, the sensation of the contact provoking full-body shudders from both of them. Leo kisses her as he slides his finger in deeper, swallowing the whimpers she makes, absorbing the tremors running through her.

Though he can barely bring himself to move away from Hazel’s mouth, Leo manages to pull back to suck briefly on her lower lip, then go lower, dragging his mouth against the line of her jaw and neck, his tongue across her collarbone as he slips another finger inside her, the heel of his hand grinding upward against her clit. His other hand traces up her back and side and back to her breast, cupping, his thumb tracing messy circles around her nipple, his mouth sucking a line of hungry marks across her shoulder and chest.

He feels a pressure against his back and hears a shuffle of clothing, and he lifts his head, dazed, to see Frank surging forward to Hazel over Leo’s shoulder again, Hazel arching up and Frank leaning down, meeting in a long, lush, open-mouthed kiss. Leo can feel the vibrations of Hazel’s whimpers in her throat, the rumble of Frank’s low moans in his chest, and he can barely focus enough to keep sliding his fingers in and out of Hazel.

Hazel’s shuddering harder now, her entire body overwhelmed with the motions she’s making as she presses against Leo, arching her hips into his hand, straining against Frank. Frank is kissing her harder, squeezing her ass again and urging her against Leo’s fingers—Leo’s hand grinds upward more insistently, and his mouth searches along Hazel’s collarbone and neck until he finds the spot that makes her tense and squirm, and he fastens his mouth there, and curls his fingers inward just enough—

—and Hazel lets out a cry against Frank’s mouth, back arching so hard she nearly dislodges herself from Leo’s waist, her nails digging into Leo’s shoulders, moaning loud and long as she rides out her orgasm. And then she goes limp, her legs disentangling from Leo and Frank, her head tucked into Leo’s shoulder, her body listing softly against his, and it makes Leo shudder all over again, realizing anew just how on edge he is.

As Hazel shifts to Leo’s side, Leo feels Frank’s hands creeping down, fumbling over his shoulder to undo his pants and tug them down. He’s surprisingly nimble given that Leo can feel, against his back, the evidence that he’s wound as tightly as Leo himself, and then all thought flies out of Leo’s head as Frank’s hand wraps around his cock.

It’s unbelievable how much better he feels—like he hadn’t realized just how desperate he was until Frank touched him, like it took this sense of relief to make him realize just how much he needed it earlier, how much he’d been holding back—and he closes his eyes, falling backwards against Frank, hips pressing forward into the touch. Frank’s hand is large and warm and lightly calloused as he strokes Leo, gentle at first but quickly gaining speed, as if he needs it just as much as Leo himself, belied by the quick, shallow breath Leo can feel against his back, low, rough sounds escaping from his chest.

For a moment Leo can’t focus on anything but the feeling of Frank’s fingers, the solid bulk of him, the soft hitches of his breath—the labored sound of his own breathing, the warmth unspooling in his gut, the sense of pleasure beyond his comprehension—and then he slowly becomes more aware of what’s going on around him, hearing fumbling with cloth and Frank’s muffled low moan, and he opens his eyes, gaze slitting sideways to see Hazel with her own hand around Frank’s cock, sliding up and down, her mouth moving along Frank’s chest—and Frank bends to kiss Leo, and Leo’s mouth opens eagerly against his, standing on his toes to press closer to him, desperately absorbing the tremors of his body like they’re necessary to his survival. He finds his hand moving, reaching out, searching for something—and then his fingers meet Hazel’s, catch and intertwine, holding tightly like a lifeline.

With everything happening around him and how long Leo’s been on edge, it doesn’t take long at all until he’s feeling every muscle in his body tense like an arrow notched on a string, pleasure building in every cell until he can’t bear it anymore, and he comes with a shout muffled into Frank’s mouth, hips bucking forward into Frank’s hand, fingers tightening on Hazel’s. And as he goes limp, all of the tension rushing out of his body like a sigh, his mouth softening against Frank’s, Frank breaks away from him and lets out a hoarse cry, pressing forward as he follows, a rush of stiffness and tension followed by a slump so profound he actually pulls Leo down—and soon enough all three of them are on the ground, Leo and Hazel both leaning against Frank’s chest, Frank’s arms around both of them, Leo and Hazel’s hands still clasped tightly.

It takes a good few minutes for sense to return to Leo’s foggy, exhausted, pleasure-hazed brain—and when it does, he goes stiff and practically launches himself away from both of them. 

_What the fuck had just happened?_

What had they just done? What had _he_ just done? What had come over them—over him? It’s bizarre enough that all of them had been unable to resist jumping one another, but gods, this is going to be so, _so_ awkward for the rest of Leo’s life. How is he going to be able to look them in the eye ever again—knowing what he’d had, unable to forget what they’d shared, to put out of his mind everything he’ll be missing?

It had been everything he wanted, and now it’s the worst he’s ever felt.

He can barely stand to look at them, but he forces his gaze over anyway, consumed with shame and guilt and longing. His pants, he realizes, are still around his ankles, and his shirt is off—at least Frank’s only got his pants down, but Hazel, he remembers with a crushing sense of embarrassment and desire, is still entirely naked.

And she’s fully aware of it, too, judging by the mortified squeal she lets out before burying her face in her hands. Frank, ever considerate, proceeds to remove his own shirt and drape it around her, despite the way his own face, too, is flaming.

Neither of them are looking at Leo. He doesn’t blame them.

Someone’s got to make an effort to start, though. “Well,” he says, his voice hoarse and croaky, “that’s new.”

Hazel lets out a miserable little sound and nestles her face further into her hands. Leo winces. “Look,” he says, lower, more serious (difficult for him, but he’s trying), “guys. We don’t have to—this doesn’t have to be a thing. We can just—it’s okay. It’s just another weird monster thing, right? We can just forget it and move on.”

Hazel lets out another sound, similar to the first, this time raising her head to stare at Leo, eyes wide. Frank is looking at him, too, a similar expression on his face. Is that—does he look _sad?_ It’s the worst thing Leo’s ever seen. He wants to punch himself in the face for causing it. 

“Guys,” he says, his voice pleading now. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But—it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I’ll forget all about it. I’ll never, ever mention it again. No one has to know.”

“Is that what you want?” Frank asks, and his voice sounds so, so quiet and small. Hazel’s still silent, but her eyes are wide and sad, too, and Leo somehow feels even more like the worst person in the world, despite his sudden and intense confusion.

“Uh,” he says, eloquently. “I mean—no. If you must know, it’s really not. But you guys are my best friends. Don’t tell the others,” he adds, probably his weakest ever attempt at lightening the mood. “But it’s true. And I wouldn’t—I don’t want anything to ruin that. So—it’s okay. I promise.”

After a beat of incredibly awkward silence, Hazel speaks, voice hesitant. “I don’t know if we—we remember what just happened the same way. I mean, I’m going to need—so many years of therapy to get over how embarrassed I am.” And it shows; she’s blushing so hard it’s visible even against the darkness of her skin, her fingers now haphazardly, nervously intertwining with one another. “But apart from that—I mean—it was _good._ Really good.”

“I seem to remember that, too,” Frank says, very softly. He’s blushing, too, and it’s showing up much more strongly on him.

Leo can practically feel his brain melting. This cannot possibly end well.

“Yeah,” he hears himself saying, as if from a great distance. “Yeah, okay, it was really good, it was freaking amazing, is that what you want me to say? That it was way better than anything I’ve ever imagined, and despite my best efforts I have imagined a _lot?_ That knowing for sure what I’m missing is gonna make not having it a million times worse? That I have no idea how I’m going to be in the same room with you two without wanting—wanting—”

His voice breaks. Humiliated, heartbroken, he snaps his gaze away from them. Gods, it shouldn’t hurt, shouldn’t _still hurt_ —hasn’t he always known this wouldn’t be impossible? What good does it do anyone to have it all out in the open? Is he just physically incapable of doing anything right?

There’s silence, then, long enough that Leo makes himself look back at Frank and Hazel. They’re looking at each other like they’re talking without words, thoughtful and intense, and Leo doesn’t think he can bear it for another minute. 

Then—“Leo,” Hazel says, turning back to him. Her expression is weird—patient but nervous, maybe even a little sad again?

Whatever it is she’s got planned as comfort, Leo doesn’t want to hear it. “It’s fine,” he says, forcing a casual tone. “You don’t have to say it.”

_“Leo,”_ she says then, a little more sharply. “Can you just listen instead of talking for once in your life?” 

Leo’s startled, but not enough to avoid pulling a wince that’s only a little exaggerated. “Ouch,” he says, putting a hand to his heart. “Insult to injury. Pretty literally, that monster got me a little in the—”

“Gods’ sake,” Hazel mutters, getting to her feet, clutching Frank’s shirt to her like a makeshift towel. (It works, given how much bigger than her Frank is, but only barely.) She strides over to Leo, crouches down next to him, and drops the shirt in order to take his face in her hands. And then she kisses him.

Leo’s so surprised that he actually jerks away, hard enough to dislodge Hazel’s grip on him. She blinks, startled, then fixes her gaze on him, serious and intent, looking—as always—wise way beyond her years. It’s easy, at times like this, to forget she’s the youngest of them. 

Under that steady golden gaze, all Leo can manage is to splutter out a weak demand of, “Wh—what the fuck?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says, fiercely. “Do you think we would have done that with just anyone?”

Leo splutters again, this time not even managing to come up with any words, because—well—he had been pretty sure that the answer to that was yes. But now—

_“Leo,”_ Hazel says again, her expression softening; she’s now sounding a little gentler, less chiding and more sympathetic. And the look on her face is fonder than any Leo’s ever seen directed at him—except, now that he’s thinking of it, he’s wondering if that’s really true. He’s finding himself remembering times he might have seen her look at him like this before. But now… well, there’s some new context behind it. 

“Leo,” Frank echoes, and he’s come closer, too, crouching right next to Hazel. His expression is a mirror of hers, that same softness and fondness—and Leo wonder if he’s just the biggest idiot on the planet, because that’s definitely not the first time he’s seen that expression directed at him, either. “We love you. We want to be with you.”

Leo blinks, twice, and sets himself on fire to make sure that he’s not dreaming.

Frank yelps and immediately scoots away, eyes wide in alarm, and Leo curses under his breath, quickly putting himself out again. “Shit, shit, sorry, I didn’t mean—I forgot—” And then he breaks off, because he’s clearly _not_ dreaming, which must mean—

“Really?” he asks, and he can’t help how small his voice comes out. 

Frank lets out a sound that manages to be both exasperated and affectionate and crawls closer again, pausing right next to Leo. “Do you promise not to set yourself on fire again if I kiss you?”

Leo’s heart leaps so hard it practically cracks his sternum. Forcing a crooked smile and a light tone to his voice to hide the jangle of his nerves, he says, “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise things won’t get… a little heated.” 

Frank huffs out another breath, rolling his eyes, and sets a hand at the back of Leo’s neck to drag him closer for a kiss, and Leo finally begins to let himself believe that this could really be happening.

He finds himself all the way there when Frank pulls away, a soft smile on his face, and Leo feels Hazel’s hand creeping into his. He looks down, and sees that her other hand is cupping Frank’s elbow, and she’s looking up at him, beaming.

And then she turns to Leo with the same joyful expression, and he feels the last little tendrils of doubt slip away as he finds himself, helplessly, smiling back.


End file.
